


An Undecorated Tree

by RhymePhile



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-22
Updated: 2008-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-10 14:53:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/100987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RhymePhile/pseuds/RhymePhile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On Christmas Eve, Krycek is shot and stumbles onto Mulder's doorstep for help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Undecorated Tree

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the [Christmas 2008 Online Magazine](http://www.nick-lea.com/zines/christmas2008zine/index.html), which is full of Nick Lea goodness.

  
The slush swirled in an angry torrent over his boot as he stepped from the curb, soaking the unprotected leather through to his sock. He groaned, and cursed both his poor timing for this meeting and the unexpected snowstorm.

Krycek had been sent to Alexandria, Virginia to buy information about secret weapons testing from a Russian expatriate. Apparently they were close to an aerosol deployment system the Consortium deemed important to their plans with the alien colonists.

He wasn't told any more than that, however, which always set him on edge. Other than the place they were meeting and the name of the man -- Kravchenko -- he knew nothing else. And it was hard not to be annoyed at what he considered entry-level work. Handing over money for military secrets? Any of the Consortium's underlings could have handled such a petty job. It felt more like he was being told be to be a good little boy while the grown men made the decisions.

He sighed, and tried to hunch down lower into his coat to protect his ears. The cold was not helping his mood.

His hand slipped to the waist of his jeans to check his H&amp;K 9 mm. The extra clip was strapped to the wrist of his prosthesis, an unlikely but readily accessible place if he got into trouble. Stepping into a side alley, he chambered a round as quietly as he could and flipped the safety off.

He wasn't going to spoil his Christmas by getting shot.

* * *

He drove underneath the overpass at the King Street Metro station, and passed through the intersection to stay on King Street. He saw a Hilton hotel on his left, so he knew he was headed the right way. The block was quiet at this time of night despite it being filled with small shops and retail stores. He reached Harvard Street and turned left into the small parking lot. It was a residential area, but the parking lot was behind the brick storefronts, shielding it from view of the main road.

A black sedan with tinted windows sat waiting, its engine running. Krycek pulled his rental car into the lot and parked.

When he did so, the driver of the sedan stepped to the rear of the car and opened the door on the passenger side.

A small man wearing a dark blue wool coat with graying hair emerged. He adjusted his scarf and waved for the driver to return to his seat.

Krycek once again reached down and felt for the butt of his pistol hidden at his waist. He kept the bottom two buttons of his black peacoat unbuttoned, to give him easier access to the gun. He pulled on a black watchcap and his leather gloves, and waited.

The old man gestured to him, and Krycek got out.

The snow had become less heavy, but now it was mixed with sleet and freezing rain. He could feel it pelting his face as he walked closer to the old man.

"Step to the rear of the car Kravchenko," Krycek called out. "And tell your driver to place both of his hands on the wheel and leave them there."

Kravchenko nodded slightly and walked to the trunk area. He leaned against the car and gave the order to his driver, who complied.

"They told me you were cautious," the old man said, smiling. "Quite admirable."

"_Da_," Krycek answered. His eyes tracked over the car and the surrounding area, making sure they were alone.

"Is that why they sent you? You speak Russian?" Kravchenko smiled again. "Don't worry, _malchik_. I haven't spoken Russian since I left. Too many bad memories."

"Fine. Do you have the information we need?"

Kravchenko held up a manila folder. "Do you have the money?"

Krycek reached into this coat and held up a large envelope that contained $10,000 in cash.

The old man placed the manila folder on the trunk of the car. "You won't object if I count it, will you?"

He tossed the envelope onto the trunk and picked up the folder. It was wrapped in clear plastic and sealed with a red sticker across the opening. He would be out of the loop again it seemed.

As Krycek stood there examining the folder, the old man tucked the envelope of cash safely into his coat. "You know I always hated the man you work for -- Spender. He's arrogant. Always treated me with disrespect. He would never believe an old man like me could double-cross him."

Krycek looked up. "What do you..."

He heard the shots before he even saw Kravchenko draw the gun. The sound of the silencer was unmistakable. Two bullets hit him in quick succession, aimed low and on his left side. He crumpled against the trunk of the car and smashed down against the steel bumper before falling hard in the slush of the parking lot.

He landed with the prosthesis pinned under him and his face pressed into the pavement. Wet seeped into his mouth and nose and he sputtered. He made a futile attempt to reach his 9 mm, but a boot abruptly pressed down on his wrist. The driver then reached down and grabbed Krycek's gun from his waistband and threw it across the parking lot.

"Like I said, Spender's weakness is his cavalier attitude toward those he deems unimportant. He thought me nothing more than an old, simpering idiot he could take advantage of." Kravchenko sighed. "But you see, I'm no fool. Because now I have the information _and_ the money. Rather clever, wouldn't you say? And you, _malchik_? Well, you pay for his mistake."

He heard their retreating footsteps slosh through the slush, and the car doors closing. The sedan pulled away, and then everything went silent.

* * *

He wasn't sure how long he had been lying on the cold, wet pavement when he woke, but it must have been a while because he could see where his blood had drenched the snow.

He tried to sit up, but a wave of dizziness and nausea washed over him. Lying back down, he blinked his eyes against the falling sleet and tried to feel where he had been hit. It became fruitless, however, when he realized that the entire left side of his peacoat from armpit to hip had been soaked with blood.

Feeling himself begin to drift into unconsciousness again, he clenched his teeth and forced himself to move.

Taking deep breaths, Krycek rolled onto his right side and propped himself up with the prosthesis. His left side was throbbing, but the nausea wasn't as bad this time. Steadying himself with his left arm, he pushed up with his right and was able to come to a half-sitting, half-kneeling position. He paused a moment, letting the dizziness subside, and then went to his hands and knees.

Slowly he began inching his way through the slush, balancing his weight on his right arm and knee, and then gently pulling his left leg along, trying to keep it -- and his left side -- straightened as much as possible. Panting with the effort, he had to stop and catch his breath. He was shivering now. The wet, heavy wool peacoat did nothing to protect him from the falling sleet and snow.

After what seemed like hours, Krycek made it to the door of his car. He pulled the door open as wide as it would go, and then grabbed for the steering wheel. He pushed from his right leg with all the strength he could muster, and then collapsed into the front seat, his left leg still dangling on the outside of the car.

With immense effort he tugged his leg into the car and shut the door. He was shivering so violently that he had trouble fitting the key into the ignition, but when he did he turned the heat up as far as it would go and tried to think.

He couldn't go to a hospital -- it wouldn't take them long to call police after seeing the gunshot wound. He couldn't drive back to D.C., because he doubted he could last very long on the highway without passing out again. He willed himself to stay awake and think. Where the _hell_ could he go in the middle of the night in fucking downtown Alexandria?

* * *

Mulder turned over again on the couch and stared at the clock. At this point he willed the morning to come and put him out of his misery. He made a trip to the bathroom and then powered up his desktop. If he wasn't going to be able to sleep, then at least he would do some work.

The monitor glowed to life, casting light against the half-built Christmas tree in the corner. He had rescued the scraggly thing along with some ornaments from his mother's basement after she died, but every year he would only get as far as building the stand and screwing the fake trunk into it before he gave up. Mulder was never much for the Christmas spirit, unlike his mother. After she died Christmas only served to heighten his disillusionment with the holiday.

He was in the middle of checking his e-mail when a sound caught his attention.

Listening more closely now, he heard what sounded like scratching against his apartment door. It fell silent, and then started again -- this time more pronounced -- along with scuffling out in the hall.

Mulder unbolted the door and unlatched the chain. "I swear to God," he grumbled out loud, "if it's that damn cat from down the hall again..."

When he opened the door Krycek fell halfway into the doorway.

"What the hell?"

Mulder took a surprised step back and Krycek reached up to steady himself against the doorjamb.

"Mulder..."

Mulder reached for his gun, but realized he'd left it on the coffee table. In his haste to chase away the non-existent cat he'd forgotten it.

"I n-need some help," Krycek said. He was shivering so much from the cold that his teeth were chattering.

"You're lucky I don't kill you where you stand," Mulder growled back.

"Good to see y-you too." He swayed in the doorway and shuffled his feet to remain standing.

Mulder glared at him with disgust, noticing his soaked coat and bruised and bleeding face. "Fuck off, Krycek. What happened? You get into a fight at a bar? Go be drunk somewhere else."

"I'm not d-drunk."

"Whatever. I don't give a shit. Stay the hell away from me."

"Mulder, please..."

Mulder was about to slam the door in his face when he noticed a small red puddle forming next to Krycek's left foot.

"Krycek, what are you..."

He didn't get a chance to finish the question, because the other man collapsed into his arms.

* * *

Mulder half-dragged and half-carried Krycek to the couch, then realized what he thought was a coat wet from the snow was actually wet with blood.

Blood had seeped all the way down the peacoat and drenched it. Krycek left a red trail behind him, marking up the wood floor. Mulder was able to throw a blanket over the couch before he set Krycek down.

When he reached for the phone Krycek croaked, "No hospital. Not yet."

"If you wanted to die I could have left you out in the hall."

"I need to see where the bullets went, Mulder. I think the second one went through."

"Bullets? Plural?"

"He s-shot me twice," Krycek answered.

"Jesus Christ, Krycek. Why did you have to involve me?"

"It's Christmas Eve. I knew you'd be home."

Mulder had no answer for that.

"Help me get the coat off," Krycek insisted. "Start on m-my right."

He looked at him. "This would be easier if I could call Scully."

"And say what? The man you hate most in the world is bleeding all over your couch? She would probably congratulate you."

"Stop being so fucking flippant or I _will_ let you bleed to death."

"Just help me with the coat."

Mulder slid the collar over Krycek's shoulder. He pulled the sleeve from his arm and then reached behind Krycek, forcing him to lean forward.

"Mulder, wait, I..."

Krycek gasped and went white, and Mulder immediately pressed him back against the couch.

"It's your left side?"

"Y-yes," he whispered, teeth clenched.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I can't feel exactly w-where it is," he answered, annoyed. "I was passed out in the snow."

Mulder shifted the coat to Krycek's side.

"Tell me again why I'm helping you and not tossing you from the window right now?"

"'Tis the season."

"I must have the Christmas spirit," Mulder said sarcastically.

"Uh-huh," Krycek grunted as he shifted on the couch. "Your half-built Christmas tree over here makes it obvious."

"Shut up or I'll put another hole in you."

Mulder gingerly pulled the coat from Krycek's left arm. Underneath he wore a black cable-knit sweater.

"Well, I can see where one went. The plastic of the prosthesis is shattered under the sweater here."

Krycek looked over and saw a gaping, cracked hole through what would have been his bicep. Mulder moved the coat to the floor.

Crouching down, Mulder gingerly pressed his fingers against the darkest spot on Krycek's left side, and the other man flinched. He rolled the sweater up and saw the ugly red wound beneath.

"I found the second one. It's below your armpit."

"Did it go through?"

The gaping wound on Krycek's back was obvious. "Yeah. It missed the ribs. Another inch and it would have perforated a lung."

"Can you stop the bleeding?"

"The exit wound is big."

"I'm not asking you to perform surgery, Mulder. Patch me up enough so I won't pass out on the drive back to D.C."

Mulder sighed. "Then I'll need to get the sweater off."

"Use scissors," Krycek said, closing his eyes.

Mulder found scissors in the desk and began to snip at the material, starting from the bottom. He cut an arc all the way around the prosthesis, carefully avoiding the wound, and then over to Krycek's right side. The sweater fell apart in three pieces.

He reached up and began to unstrap the harness that connected the prosthesis to Krycek's right shoulder, but Krycek grabbed his wrist.

"Don't."

"I need to take it off so I can..."

"Fox," Krycek said, looking at him now. "Don't."

When they had first been partnered together, Krycek called him "Fox" only once, during a moment in which Mulder knew Krycek was absolutely terrified. He'd never heard him use it since then.

Mulder went into the bathroom and found his first aid stash. Scully insisted he keep a box of supplies after she was constantly patching him up with haphazardly gathered materials. He came back to the living room with a box filled with supplies, a basin of hot water, and a washcloth.

He bent down and looked closely at the hole in Krycek's side. "I think the bleeding has slowed." Mulder dipped the washcloth into the basin. "But this is going to hurt."

"I'm getting used to that," he sighed.

He cleaned the wound as best as he could, with Krycek clenching every time the water touched his skin. When it came time to splash the hydrogen peroxide, Mulder placed the basin underneath the ugly exit wound.

Krycek looked over at him holding the brown bottle.

"This is going to hurt worse."

He poured the liquid over the wound before Krycek had a chance to answer. The wound hissed and bubbled, and Krycek moaned slightly. His eyes fluttered and he passed out again.

Mulder worked quickly, cleaning the injured skin and taping gauze to both sides of the hole before Krycek woke. After that he went to the linen closet and found the electric blanket he rarely used. For some reason he didn't think twice when he plugged it in and draped it over Krycek's unconscious form.

* * *

Some time later Krycek woke and found Mulder sitting there watching him.

"You're staring," Krycek muttered.

"I'm observing. I've been making sure you don't soak through the bandages."

Krycek glanced down at his side. "Did it stop? How long have I been out?"

"I changed the dressing twice, but yeah, it finally stopped. You've been in and out of consciousness for the past hour. You'll also be happy to know that the neighbors won't be calling the cops. I mopped up the evidence of your little incident tonight."

"I need to go," Krycek said, starting to get off the couch.

"I don't think..."

Krycek wobbled a bit and eased back onto the couch.

"That's what I thought," Mulder said.

"God," he groaned, "this night has been all fucked up."

Mulder got up and went into the kitchen. "I don't suppose you're going to tell me what happened."

"No."

Mulder returned with the basin, again filled with hot water. "I need to clean your face."

Krycek waved him away. "It's fine, Mulder."

"The side of your face is still covered in blood."

The other man took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. "Okay."

Mulder dipped the washcloth in the basin and wrung it out, then placed it on the other man's cheek.

"Shit, that hurts."

"Sorry."

Krycek blinked at him. "Are you?"

Mulder didn't answer. "Did you get hit in the face with something?" he asked, wringing the washcloth out again.

"I was standing next to the car when he shot me. I think I connected with the bumper."

"It doesn't look broken," Mulder said, pressing a finger against Krycek's swollen cheek.

Their eyes met for a moment, and then Mulder moved away to reclaim his seat at the desk.

"Thank you," Krycek said.

"You didn't give me much choice."

"You didn't have to let me in. And you could have called the cops while I was unconscious."

"I could have."

"Why didn't you?"

"It must be the Christmas spirit," Mulder shrugged, "like you said."

"Hmm."

"It's not true about what you said earlier," Mulder said after a time.

"What?"

"That you're the man I hate most in the world."

They stared at each other again, and an awkward silence passed between them. Krycek looked away first.

"That tree is pretty pathetic."

Mulder nodded.

"I think I'm strong enough to go, Mulder. I'll leave you to it."

Krycek rose to his feet a little unsteadily, but didn't pass out again.

"Alex..."

"Would you lend me something to wear?" he asked, interrupting.

"Oh...um, yeah..."

Mulder disappeared into the bedroom and came back with a hooded zippered sweatshirt and an old ski jacket.

"Will this work?"

"If you can help me into it."

Mulder helped Krycek slide his right arm into the sweatshirt, and then walked behind him to coax the prosthesis into the other sleeve. They both reached for the zipper at the same time, but Krycek acquiesced, knowing he would have to struggle with it. The coat was easier to get on.

"Thanks for this, Mulder. I...uh..."

"Yeah."

They both walked into the foyer, and Krycek paused at the door.

"It would be nice to see the tree decorated when I come back to return this stuff."

"You can keep the sweatshirt and jacket. I don't need it," Mulder said.

"Well...then...maybe it would be nice just to see the tree."

Mulder glanced over at the scattered wire and plastic boughs, and when he looked back Krycek wouldn't meet his eyes.

"Sure. I think I can do that."

Krycek limped slightly into the hall and headed for the elevator.

"Mulder?"

He turned around. "Hmm?"

"Merry Christmas."


End file.
